Neverending Darkness
by Enkanowen
Summary: One day the sun sets on Middle Earth, and never rises again... chapter 11, wow took a while didnt it...
1. Hanging Inbetween

Thanks to Vic for having the Boromir-Narsil-cutting-turn evil idea, it's much appreciated! 

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_Foreword... _

_My second fan fiction, all nine character of the fellowship are involved this time. This plays right after they leave Gandalf falls into shadow. Rated R for mature content, violence and possibly some intense implied sexual innuendos (i.e. rape). _

_Author's Note _

_- Clarion is MINE! She's mine, mine, mine, mine!!!!!! Everything else isn't, she is! _

_- Boromir is portrayed in a positive manner. I am trying to make people understand how things would have looked from his point of view._

_Anyways, enjoy the story, it's going to be a dark one. :)_

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"You shall be the fellowship of the ring," Elrond's voice echoed in their minds. 

The fellowship of the ring, what a pitiful bunch they were, broken and torn. What was left of them, were mere shadows of their former beings, their souls consumed with sorrow and pain. 

Gandalf had fallen into shadow. His life for theirs. It seemed a logical trade, to Gandalf anyways. He was not the one having to live with the loss, the agony. 

"Give them a moment for pity's sake," Boromir had begged. 

But Aragorn, with a stern face, had hurried them along. There was no time to mourn, not until they reached the safety of Lothlorien, two days journey away. Just one more night of fear until they were allowed to let their sorrows surface, their hopelessness breach the armour of determination. 

Grief was great, though none dared show it in front of the other. The pretence of the ability to cope had to be kept alive for just another night - for Gandalf's sake, for the sake of the quest, for their own sake. If they were to bread down now, Gandalf's death would have been in vain. 

The sun was shining brightly in the sky. Bright and happily, as if nothing had happened. 

"Must you mock this death? Must you mock our pursuit? Wretched sun! Curses on you for mocking this man's death." Boromir's thoughts cut through the silence in his head. 

He felt utter helplessness. At the same time, he could feel a darkness grow inside his heart. The ring was slowly poisoning his mind. Clear thought was being deteriorated, he could sense it. He was corrupted, taken over, against his will destroyed and eventually annihilated. Boromir knew. Awareness had crept inside his mind like the blade that had cut his finger, not long ago. 

The shards of Narsil, with astonishment he had held this blade in his hands. Something had swept his mind and the urge to touch the blade had become irresistible. His fingers had slid along the cool and smooth edge, the tip of the shard had pierced his skin, slicing into his flesh, drawing his warm blood. The crimson liquid had trickled down his hand. What he was not aware of at that time, was that even after three thousand millennia, Sauron's darkness has remained on the blade, stained it eternally with his evil. 

Now, this darkness was travelling through his blood, he could feel it with every heart beat. He did not wish to inform the rest of the fellowship about this. He was sure, he would be able to fight this darkness until the quest was completed. Aragorn would have scorned him from the fellowship, he knew it. Was it not Faramir who was supposed to be with these brave men? Not him, Boromir was not the one destined to be involved with this. If he could not control the darkness within him, he would do the only noble deed he could. He would destroy his body, this vessle of evil. Even if he was not supposed to travel with these men, his father had sent him and Faramir had remained with him. 

"The sun is about to set, Boromir, will you help me gather firewood?" Sam's voice brought Boromir back to the present. 


	2. Darkness Creeps About

_Author's Note..._

_Somehow, it has turned into a Boromir fic, for now anyways. I expanded on my Narsil + cut Boromir = evil Boromir theory, and he deserves to be cut some slack, so enjoy all you Boromir fans for he got another fan fic hehe_

* * * 

Boromir nodded. Sam was a good little fellow, very loyal to Frodo. He knew, Sam would rather die than see Frodo hurt. The lack of this sort of friendship pained Boromir's heart almost as much, perhaps more than the darkness that crept through his veins. He did not belong in the fellowship, he knew that. The hobbits were stick together like sap to pine needles, Aragorn and Legolas had been friends for a very long time; Legolas and Gimli had started to form a very close relationship. Before Caradhras, Boromir had felt the warmth of all of them, willing to start a friendship with him, even though he had taken such liberties at Elrond's council. 

At Caradhras, he had felt it, for the first time the ring was able to speak to him, draw him closer. Boromir was not sure whether he had allowed it in a moment of weakness, or if the darkness inside him had grown much faster than he had anticipated. 

Poor Frodo had fallen into the snow, the chain that attached the ring to his neck had fallen off and laid there, alone in the white frozen water. Not being able to leave such a beautiful ring on the ground like that, Boromir had picked it up. He had intended to give it back to the little one, but as he had picked it up, thoughts had flooded his mind, thoughts of taking the ring and saving Gondor's people, using the ring to their advantage. He knew perfectly well that it was impossible, but something drew him towards the ring, his body failed his command to return it. 

Aragorn's face had hurt him the most in that moment. His cold eyes rested on Boromir, his hand on the hiltof his sword, ready to attack in case he made one wrong move. He felt nothing but utter disgust for Boromir for just a moment, at the same time he pitied his weakness. He did not know what Narsil had done. 

Frodo's frightened eyes glanced at Boromir, scared blue sparkles travelled into Boromir's mind. Yet, amongst the fear, there was hope, and trust. Frodo had not abandoned faith in him. 

He returned the ring to Frodo, trying to overplay the struggles it had caused him. 

That time he had been able to fight the darkness, but what if it happened again? What would he do then? He did not know. 

Now, Gandalf had fallen into shadow, the shimmer of hope that was left inside Boromir had faded into nothingness. With a sigh, Boromir started picking up firewood. They were only just at the outer skirts of the forest that bore Lothlorien, but the Orcs would not dare to venture this close to the elven kingdom. 

It was only half a days journey to the border of Lothlorien from here, but Aragorn did not want to risk travelling through the forest at night, for other creatures dwelt there, perhaps more dangerous than Orcs. 

The sun was in its last few hours of daylight, they all needed a good meal, well a meal, and some rest. Now that the bridge of Khazad Dum seemed so far away, almost surreal, Boromir enjoyed the now less painful touch of her. He enjoyed her gentle rays upon his skin, caressing him. Her warmth started to heal his soul, the darkness within him subsided back into hiding. Still able to sense its presence, Boromir knew that he would be able to fight it. 

Together with Sam, Merry and Pippin, he had collected a vast amount of firewood as the sun entered the last hour of daylight. Boromir enjoyed her touch, like the gentle and loving caress of a mother. He watched her, as she slowly sank below the horizon, kissing his face goodbye. The others were watching as well. It was an unusually beautiful sunset. Fiery colours of red, orange, yellow and violet painted the sky in a wild and abstract painting. Nine bodies and nine souls drank the last warmth of the day, the last light of hope to be internalized for the rest of the night, as the last means to make it through another darkness. 

Then, the last shimmer of light had dissipated and darkness crept through the lands. 


	3. Finding Friendship

The next day, they would reach the safety of Lothlorien. Finally, after what would seem an endless night, they would be able to breathe freely and pay their last respect to Gandalf. 

The night grew colder and the fellowship sat by a nice and warm fire, eating a meal of sausages and lembas. Aragorn had brewed a tea to help those sleep that needed it most. 

Boromir felt neither very hungry nor was he thirsty. Quietly, he chewed on a wafer of lembas. Opposite from him sat Aragorn, watching him closely, ready to fight him down if there was any sign of him trying to do anything remotely close to being an evil act that would end in trying to get the ring from Frodo. 

"Will you never stop staring?!" Boromir burst out angrily. He hated being watched. 

"I am not a child!" 

He got up and walked over to where his pack and cloak created a bed for his sore muscles and bones. On the way there, he passed a very hungry looking Pippin. The poor little one was not used to going without much food for long periods of time. Pitying the poor fella, Boromir handed him his plate. 

"Eat up little one, you need your strength." 

Thankfully, Pippin grabbed the plate. 

'Poor hobbits,' he thought to himself, 'this journey is the hardest upon them.' 

Then he wrapped himself into his cloak for he was not to hold watch until right before dawn. Boromir was well aware that Aragorn did this to keep an eye on him. Though angered, he fell asleep quickly. He needed as much rest as the others. 

"The sun will be up soon," Boromir was woken by the gentle smile of the elven prince. 

He replied with a mere nod. 

"What pains you, Boromir?" Legolas inquired, he was genuinely worried. 

Something was not right with the son of Gondor. Since he had met Boromir for the first time at Rivendell, a darkness had settled in the man's heart, he had changed. There was a shadow inside him, one that Legolas usually only sensed in beings that were facing an imminent death. A constant struggle was tearing him up inside, the shadows hiding within the depths of his brave heart. 

"Nothing pains me. What should? T'is just early and my mind is still troubled by 

Gandalf's fall. The rest I had was merely refreshing my body, not my mind." He took a swig from his water pouch. Legolas' forehead wrinkled up. He was now certain that Boromir was hiding something. He did not wish to upset his companion, neither did he wish to wake up Aragorn with commotion, for he perceived that Aragorn's mistrust had grown with nightfall. 

Legolas walked over to the fire, joining Boromir, who was watching it. 

"Why must you stare at me?" He snarled. 

"A shadow has been growing inside your mind. I can tell, ever since we left Imladris, the way has become a way of sorrow and pain for you, more and more so with each passing day." Legolas said looking at the warrior. 

"Gandalf's death has aff-" Boromir started but was interrupted by Legolas. 

"I am not speaking of Gandalf's fall into the shadow." The elf's face seemed almost angry. "The grief is strong, indeed, but I speak o you, my friend. It has become obvious to me since Caradhras defeated us. You are suffering more than you would ever lead on, Boromir." 

Boromir dared not look at the elf, for the words he had just spoken had touched his heart in a way not many things touched him. Though he also felt utter ruin. The elf not only had saved his life in the depths of Moria, when he clumsily had almost fallen into a fiery pit, now he had called him a friend, something he had been yearning to hear since Caradhras. Mistrust stirred inside him. 

"How dare you mock me like this, Legolas. Is it not enough that I know I have been scorned? Is it not enough that I live with guilt upon my shoulders? That I live in fear of betraying all of you each and every day? Why must you take pleasure in my pain? Does it make you feel better to see me hurt more?" Boromir stared into the flames. 

He felt nauseous, somewhat faint. The blackening darkness started to flow inside his veins. 

"Not again," he muttered. 

Legolas rushed beside the man, who held his head between his hands. He was genuinely worried about the son of Gondor. 

"Boromir," Legolas put his slender fingers on Boromir's shoulder. They were brushed off violently. 

"Touch me not, t'is too dangerous!" 

"Boromir what ails you?!" The elf stood beside him, horror written into his face. Instinctively, he grabbed for Boromir's hand, the one that the shard of Narsil had violated so deeply. 

"The son who went to Rivendell fails the white city, his father's hopes shattered. Had he only sent his younger, nobler son-" Boromir struggled inside. He was not weak, not yet. There was strength left inside him, fighting Sauron's darkness. 

"But do not worry, Legolas I can still manage well. We survived the Balrog did we not?" He wished to take back his words as soon as they had sprung from his lips for they pierced Legolas' heart like a poisoned arrow. 

"I did not mean-" he stammered. 

"I understand now," Legolas said absently, "I understand. Yes, I do wish it were not so, for your sake as well as everyone else's. It is growing clear inside my mind. The legendary shards have-" 

"Legolas!" Boromir interrupted him, "I beg you speak not such words!" 

The elf nodded. He did not wish to cause his friend more pain. 

Silently, they sat by the fire, the darkness surrounding them slowly grew into a grey twilight. 

"The sun is rising, I shall wake the others," Legolas, who had refused to leave Boromir in his hour of pain, said, "Once we are in Lorien, you shall heal, my friend." 

Thankfully, Boromir hinted a smile. There was hope left, if only a little. He knew he had a friend, a true friend. 

They went to wake the others. 


	4. Stumbling Throught Darkness

After they had eaten a rather small breakfast, a realization fell upon the fellowship, one by one. Legolas was the first to notice it.  
  
"Where is she who warms my face so delightfully?" Legolas whispered to himself, "The night has stretched beyond its usual boundaries. I should be able to sense her presence and yet I do not"  
  
The others looked at him with wonderment.  
  
"The sun hasn't come up, though she should have sometime ago." Aragorn translated for the elf, being used to the usual flowery way of speaking the Prince of Mirkwood possessed.  
  
The rest of the fellowship grew weary. The four hobbits were standing huddled together, almost too scared to breathe, definitely too scared to move. Gimli stood close to the sorrowful elf, trying to give comfort by his presence. Boromir felt the need to walk over to his fair friend and reassure him, tell him the quest was not going to fail, but he felt unable to do so. Not only was Aragorn watching him closely again, he felt the darkness allowed the shadow in his heart to grow. Still slowly, still weakened by the feelings of friendship and comfort, Legolas had given him the night before, and perhaps even  
  
"Boromir." Aragorn disrupted his thoughts violently. "Help me make torches for the hobbits." It wasn't asking; it was a command.  
  
Boromir did not feel the need for argument so he obeyed the Ranger without a word.  
  
Once the hobbits had each received their own, if small torch, they started feeling a bit braver. Eventually brave enough to leave and continue on with their journey to Lorien.  
  
The sun still had not risen after a few hours of journey. Though, it seemed to try and push away the thick blanket of darkness that had lain across the plains of Middle Earth the earlier day. A sort of twilight, not quite dark and definitely not yet light, barely illuminated the unnaturally barren landscape. Worriedly, Aragorn looked about the area. A journey, that normally would have lasted half of the light of day, seemed to take much longer in this absence of light. Even the ranger had difficulties walking along without tripping over a root every now and then. The hobbits had it worse; they barely made it longer than a few minutes without falling down. Frodo had been close to tears for the past hour or so; Sam was biting his lip, taking a deep breath while trying to continue on; Merry and Pippin had taken to holding on to each other to keep themselves from falling, which more often than not resolved in them both stumbling and painfully hitting the dry and dusty ground. Even Legolas started to have difficulty moving along with as much ease as he usually moved.  
  
Only Gimli did not show any sign of exhaustion, he was the one that was struggling the least with the darkened way. He was used to deep and dark caverns in which his clan resided.  
  
"I cannot see the boundaries of Lorien yet, it troubles my mind." Aragorn disrupted the silence.  
  
"The forest of Lorien is not far, Aragorn." Legolas replied. "I can sense the presence of it in my heart. Though I fear, there still is no sign of daylight."  
  
Discouraged the fair elf sat down on a rock. Everyone else joined him; it was time for another break. The hobbits, cheered up by the break, unpacked their cooking utensils and created a wonderful meal, though it was small.  
  
The Prince of Mirkwood did not enjoy his meal as much as the others did; he was not used to this much darkness, a darkness not only of the land but one that penetrated the soul and lay there heavily. He worried about Boromir. He worried about the darkness that consumed every living thing, leaving just and emptied shell, a shadow of its former being, plant, animal and people alike.  
  
Boromir wished to comfort his friend, wished to be able to give him relief from the utter hopelessness that was felt. He knew it was no use, the shadow inside his heart had been feeding on the surrounding darkness, growing more steadily now. The brave man was barely able to hide the physical as well as mental anguish the shadow caused him.  
  
A feeling like a stabbing dagger rushed throughout his chest. His breath became irregular, almost hacking. Boromir closed his eyes in the hope that the pain in his lungs would fade away sooner. He coughed. Tiny droplets of blood caught themselves on the palm of his hand. Soon, the shadow would win, Boromir knew it. 


	5. Entering Shadow

Boromir was forced to sit down. He tried to gasp for air. Closing his eyes, he struggled for consciousness. The world spun faster and faster. A nauseous feeling spread from his stomach throughout his weakening body. In waves he felt as if hot air was rushing through his veins instead of blood. He could feel bitter bile creeping up in the back of his throat, saturating his mouth with its foul taste. A small anguished cry built up in his chest but never parted his silent lips. Feeling like his body was removed from reality and dropped into a void of nothingness, Boromir tried to grasp any spark of hope he had left inside his mind. 

The image came to him as clear as day, suddenly, cutting through the darkness of his thoughts, shocking. A beautiful smile surrounded by golden hair and sparkling blue eyes greeted him, sending him, could it be loving, gazes. Four curly heads joined the elven smile, followed by a stout bearded figure. At last, a proud king added himself to the image. No sign of mistrust in his eyes, just friendship and love. 

Boromir's mind started toppling over. He could not think coherently, thoughts sprang from one side of his brain to another, chasing each other, until they faded yet again into darkness. 

When he believed he was unable to live through this, two strong arms grabbed him and prevented him from falling. 

"Legolas, quick, help me!" Aragorn shouted. 

The elf sprang to his feet and quickly spread his cloak on the ground, then helped Aragorn carry Boromir to the improvised bedding. 

"No son of Gondor shall be defeated by an unseen foe," Boromir protested, but Legolas, as well as Aragorn pushed him back to the ground. His own body betrayed him and was unable to struggle against them. 

"Do not move, Boromir, you need to rest," Legolas demanded. 

Weakly, Boromir closed his eyes, drifting back and fourth between sleep and waking. 

"We cannot linger much longer, Aragorn. Lorien is not too far. We could make it in just a few hours," the elf said. 

"I know Legolas," the ranger replied, "but I am afraid Boromir would not make it this far. He must rest. I do not know what awaits us, but we cannot face it without him." 

Aragorn's eyes fell upon the weakening warrior of Gondor, he had fallen, a mere shadow of who he had been. He did not know whether it was the power of the ring, or perhaps an unseen enemy. It worried him. The ranger did not wish to be so mistrusting of Boromir, but he could not help but feel the same shadow that was blackening Boromir's heart. Was it affecting him as well? He did not know. Something overcame his mind, he had not felt in a very long time, fear. He was afraid the quest was at the edge of failure and a fall was imminent. 

Legolas sat down beside the ranger. Worry swept through his mind as well, more so than before. His elven senses felt how much despair had grown in Aragorn's heart, the same shadow he had felt within Boromir had begun to grow inside the king. Sorrowful, he watched Boromir. 

In the state between waking and sleeping, Boromir felt a gentle hand on his neck, another carefully placed a cup of water on his lips. Greedily, he started swallowing the soothingly cold liquid, not caring if it spilled or ran into his throat causing him to choke. The hand grabbed him less gentle now and forced the cup away from his mouth. He coughed, but the two hands held him up and his lungs calmed quickly. Without warning, the hands stopped supporting him and he fell back onto the ground. 

"What is this?" Boromir asked confused, as well as angered. 

"Hello," a female voice replied, "you are finally awake." 

"Who are you?!" He demanded to know. Where were the others? Legolas? Aragorn? Gimli? The little ones? 

"My name is Clarion." She replied, laughter ringing just as bells. 


	6. Clarion

Boromir woke up with a start. His blue eyes were bloodshot and wide open. Breath escaped his lungs in sudden, painful bursts. He gasped for air. A sense of panic took hold of his thoughts and tried to drive him beyond sanity. He realized, he was alone. 

A fire burnt at his feet. 

"Where is everyone," he thought. 

His mind started racing. 

"Where are they?"  


"Did they leave me behind?"  


"What happened?"  


With shaky knees, he stood up. The clearing was not empty. Two packs had remained, Boromir recognized them to be Merry and Pippin's. Perhaps the others had continued on their journey, and the two hobbits had remained to wait for him to gain some strength. Perhaps the others were already resting safely in the havens of Lorien. A small spark of hope lit inside his mind, pushing away all thoughts as to why two very scared little hobbits would have remained to wait for the Son of Gondor. 

"Pippin," he called, "Merry?" 

"Are you there?" 

Boromir walked about the camp. There was no answer. If they had remained to wait for him, where were they? A cracking twig caught his attention. His eyes shifted towards the trees, able to make out a shadow between the slender birch trees. It moved quietly, almost completely silent. Every now and then, the man was able to hear a small sigh or a cracking twig. The shadow circled him, then stepped out from between the trees. Laughter, as clear as bells rang inside his head. 

Boromir tried to make out anything, but a large crimson cloak covered the shadow completely, the hood drawn deep into its face. 

The Son of Gondor forgot the shadow inside his heart and stepped forward. 

"Where are my friends," he demanded to know angrily. 

Only laughter. 

"Who are you?" Boromir continued, trying not to let the laughter affect him, "Where are my friends?" 

He unsheathed his sword and stepped towards the shadow. The laughter finally receded. 

"Would the Son of Gondor attack and unarmed stranger? Especially a Lady?" 

The shadow drew the hood off its head, revealing the features of a young woman. Curly, auburn hair played around her face, reminding Boromir almost of the little ones. Her eyes were of a dark unidentifiable colour, seemingly as black as the night sky. They sparkled brightly as Boromir lifted the torch, he had grabbed from the fire earlier. 

"Who are you," he repeated. 

A mocking smile stretched across the young woman's face, but she remained silent. 

"Where are my friends." 

Still she said nothing. 

"Answer me." 

Silence. 

"ANSWER ME! NOW!" 

Boromir let the torch fall to the ground. His face contorted by the agony, the knowledge, that something had happened to his friends, brought. Worry for his friends, and fear, a fear he had never known before spread through his insides, twisting his gut, forcing the air out of his lungs. For a moment, his mind swam, but he was able to hold onto a small branch of hope and pull himself out of the water. 

The young woman now stood closer by his side. Her face was expressing pity and sorrow. 

"My name," she spoke, clear as the morning air, "is Clarion." 

"Clarion?" 

She nodded in silence. 

"Where are my friends?"  


"I do not know." 

Swept away by sorrow, Boromir sheathed his sword. His spirit almost broken, the shadow inside him started stirring again. Blood pounded painfully in his temples, blinding his sight with bright white shadows. The darkness within his veins spread through his body with every beat of his heart. His steps were heavy, exhausting. When he stopped, a horrific picture painted itself before his eyes. 


	7. Betrayal

Merry hastily scrambled up. Pippin grabbed his arm and dragged him along. The young hobbits ran into the darkness, their feet catching under roots and stones, sending them stumbling through the unknown territory. Blind fear drove them on. Never had the hobbits been scared for their lives like this. Their breath came raggedly from their lips, eyes wide open, struck by mortal fear. Their screams unable yo leave their throats, knowing that no one would be able to hear them. There was nowhere to go, they could not run forever. 

Pippin let out a gasp. Merry's lung felt as if they were going to burst. Tears flooded his eyes when he saw his cousin fall and hit the unforgiving ground. He wanted to rush to aid him, but it was already there, the shadow that had been hunting them. 

Standing above an unconscious Pippin, something glittered within the dark. A bone wrenching cracking sounded. Pippin's eyes flung open, his mouth was opened to the point of tearing, an inhuman noise escaped his lips, painting them crimson red with blood. His gaze fixing itself lovingly upon his cousin, tensing one last time. Then the small body fell limp back onto the hard ground. 

Merry felt nauseous, his fate was imminent. His fear was wiped from his mind and he stood bravely facing the shadow, eyes looking straight at the shadow. Though his body was relaxed, an inner tension stormed his mind, when all of a sudden a sense of wonderment overcame him. 

"You...? Bu-" 

Before he finished the sentence, a sharp blade severed his spinal cord, detaching his head from his body. He barely felt any pain, for a moment the world was falling, then it turned black. 

*** 

The contents of Boromir's stomach spilled upon the ground. The picture before his eyes was taking his breath, seizures convulsed his insides, he fell to his knees. Mournful cries escaped his tensed lips, his throat tightened further and further in agonizing anguish, consuming the cries leaving only tears and despair. 

"I know what you have seen, Son of Gondor," Clarion spoke. 

Boromir stood up, tearing his eyes from the young hobbits' mangled and decaying bodies. With angry eyes he faced the cloaked woman. 

"You did this!" 

The darkness inside his veins stirred, waiting for the right moment to take him over. 

"Look closely, you will see _who_ it was who did this," Clarion placed her hands upon the man's eyes and closed them gently, forcing him to watch his friends die again. 

*** 

The blade that had taken both hobbits' lives was cleaned of their innocent blood by the shadow's raggedy cloak. The sword was sheathed and a familiar laughter sounded inside his ears, mocking him, echoing into the darkness. The shadow pulled back the hood of the dark cloak. Boromir's heart stopped, for his eyes fell upon himself, standing between the corpses of his friends. 


	8. Onwards

Boromir stood defeated, his eyes transfixed on a spot on the ground. 

"I suggest you do not mourn for those who are too weak to survive, Boromir," the voice that once rang like bells now was cold and sharp like the stained blade of his sword. 

Boromir looked at the blade; it was crusted with the dried blood of his friends, his friends, his friends that he had killed. Boromir vomited. Had he already lost the battle with the darkness? 

* * * 

Gimli's stout heart was beating faster. He was exhausted, but ready to jump this unseen foe. Inside his mind, he was still trying to figure out how he had gotten separated from the others. It seemed, just a few seconds ago, he had been beside Legolas and now, he was alone. He did not know where his comrades were, for a more immediate need gradually grew more important within his thoughts. 

He was alone. 

Under natural circumstances, he would not have worried, he was a dwarf after all, and used to dark caverns and solitude. This was different. 

Something was hunting him. 

*          *         * 

Boromir stumbled over a tree root. He did not fall but lose posture just long enough for Clarion to step beside him and support his arm.

            "Do not pity me with your touch," he brushed her arm off.

            Her touch burnt him in a way he could not describe with words. It was as if her fingers grasped through him, feeling for the darkness inside, as though her hands were able to penetrate his essence and bring out the shadow, nourish it. 

Clarion looked at him. This man was much stronger and prouder than she had imagined him to be. The Son of Gondor had been fighting the darkness for much longer than it should have been humanly possible. The others had been completely consumed by the darkness when the second day had dawned. Things were not going according to plan anymore. She was not worried. It would merely pose a small challenge and one would have to improvise now. No problems, just minor changes in tactic. 

            Boromir sensed her darkness, her shadow. Intrigued by it, the shadow within him stirred. His essence was repulsed by her. She had succumbed to the luring call of darkness, lost the fight he was still fighting. Fear squirmed inside his guts.  Was he bound to the same fate? Was his consumption by the shadow imminent? Had he no choice? Doubts wielded inside his mind. His struggles with the shadow had indeed become easier. Was he really defeating the shadow or had it become such a part of him that he could not distinguish it from himself anymore?

A sudden rush of blackness flooded his mind. He fell down.

*          *          *

Gimli stumbled through the dark. The unseen foe made him angry. He was brave enough to fight, he would rather die by the blade of the enemy than run like a coward, but he could not see. The darkness took his sight. 

            "Show yourself!" the stout dwarf demanded, but nothing happened.

            The silence was disrupted by a rustling in the underbrush. Gimli jumped around, his battle axe raised above his head with his right hand, his left threw a smaller one into the brush.

A small, muffled cry came from the darkness.

            "Careful Master Dwarf," Aragorn stepped out from the darkness, "you almost killed the ring bearer."

He handed the small axe back to Gimli as a shaking Frodo and Sam came out from behind him. 

            "Whatever has been hunting us is gone." Aragorn looked around, "where is Legolas, Gimli?"

The dwarf looked at Aragorn, a surprised look on his face.

            "He is not with you?"

Yet again, a cold silence fell upon the remainders of what had been the Fellowship of the Ring. Sorrow saturated the air. The four slowly continued their journey, not knowing whether the elven prince was alive. They knew they had to continue, they could not remain in these unsafe lands. In this darkness, their best chance was to move on and hope that if Legolas was alive, his senses would bring his path towards them soon enough.

*          *          *

Legolas clutched his abdomen. Pain sprang fourth, penetrating his mind. Crimson blood slowly trickled from a fresh wound. The blade had cut across his mid. 'Twas not deep, yet the paint burnt his insides. Breath escaped his lungs raggedly.

The shadow moved slowly between the skeletons of the trees, as if enjoying every second the elf suffered pain. 

The young prince scrambled up, trying to ignore the searing pain as best as he could. Holding himself up leaning against a tree, he drew one of his daggers.

            "Come out from the shadows, fiend!" he demanded.

It was quiet. The figure had moved out of Legolas' line of sight. He was still able to faintly sense the presence of something dark, but was incapable of knowing where it was. He turned his head slowly, listening closer, his body tensed like a cat ready to jump its prey. In one fluent motion, he disappeared between the trees, drawing the hood of his cloak deep into his face.

If this devil wanted to play with him, he would play, but he would play by his rules. With that thought, the slender elf swiftly climbed up onto a low hanging branch of the tree.

                                                            *          *          *


	9. Aragorn's Tears

"What wouldn't I give to see the sun again," Sam sighed, sitting on a small rock by the fire Aragorn had managed to start.  
  
"I know, Sam," said the ranger, "I know."  
  
Frodo had curled up into a blanket right beside the fire, seeing its warmth.  
  
Aragorn listened closely to the dark of night. The constant silence had almost driven him mad. The ranger's ear was used to hear all sorts of noises and his senses almost matched those of the elves.  
  
The world had started to change again. A threatening feeling grew inside the ranger's mind. He looked at the two hobbits huddled around the fire in an almost apologizing way, then at Gimli who sat a bit away from them staring into nothingness, wrapped in his cloak.  
  
Silently, Aragorn slipped into the darkness, away from the fire. Something had caught his attention, wind was rustling through the trees, after what had seemed ages of wandering through a silent darkness; wind had picked up and carried a faint sound to his pointed ears, the only reminder of his elven ancestry.  
  
He turned his head in order to follow the sound. Footsteps, as light as feathers falling to the ground were coming closer. Aragorn turned towards them.  
  
"Elessar!"  
  
A figure stepped out from between the trees.  
  
"Haldir," the ranger said surprised.  
  
"Elessar, what is this darkness," fear sounded in his voice.  
  
As the ranger's look wandered across the elf's figure, he saw that Haldir must have been wandering around for days, his cloak was covered in mud, his tunic ripped and stained, leaves and twigs were sticking out of the tangled mane that was his hair.  
  
A long cut was disfiguring the milky skin, crusting it with dried blood; many purple and black bruises covered his arms and legs where his clothes were torn. His sunken in features emphasized his already high cheek bones, making him look like he was merely an inch from death.  
  
Tired eyes looked at Aragorn, tired yet the ranger was able to make out a spark of hope that his presence had ignited.  
  
He offered some of his water to the exhausted elf, who gratefully swallowed the crisp and clear liquid, sighed and collapsed. Before the fragile elf fell to the ground, Aragorn caught him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Haldir's head rested on his shoulder as the ranger picked him up, carrying him off towards where Aragorn remembered the camp to be.  
  
* * *  
  
Exhaustion caught the ranger off guard. It had slowly crept up on him like a tiger sneaks up on its prey. With a swipe of a claw it had managed to force his legs to give out under him. Groaning he sank to the ground, losing the elf from his arms, the frail body landing in the dirt, bruising it more.  
  
Aragorn's eyes were at level with the earth. He could smell it, taste it. There was no comfort in either taste or smell. It had grown bitter and cold, giving him no love, no healing. Pain shot through his arms as he tried to push himself up, too much pain to be able to support his weight.  
  
White flashes danced before his eyes, mocking his feeble attempts to stand up. It seemed impossible, pain like hot knives stabbed into his back and head.  
  
For the first time in his life, Aragorn felt lonely and helpless. He had always been able to find peace within his solitude but now he felt helpless.  
  
Haldir had come to seek his council, his help and he was unable to provide it. The ranger's insides squirmed, for the first time in his life; he wished to be back at Rivendell, in the arms of his beloved Arwen, far away from these lands, oblivious to the existence of the ring.  
  
Heavily, his head fell back to the ground, his vision blurred by on-coming tears, his throat tightened and burnt. Aragorn closed his eyes and wept. 


	10. Fading Grace

Boromir looked up at the sky. Faintly, he was able to make out what seemed like the stars were sparkling, only much further away. However, their tiny lights comforted him; it was not completely dark anymore. He remembered the sun and how her light used to caress him; he did not feel as alone as he did before.  
  
He looked over at Clarion who seemed strangely faded in the pale starlight. She was looking at the sky as well. For a moment, it was as if her entire being was dissolving into the crisp air.  
  
"I have more to show you," she said, suddenly standing beside him, "come."  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas held onto the branches of the trees as e climbed higher. Forgotten was his wound, the closeness of the tree comforted him enough to take away the pain. He looked down at his abdomen; the wound had stopped bleeding and started healing. Leaning back against the tree, he could feel that it, like its brothers, was dead. The very being of it had been pulled out of the earth by an unseen force. Shivers ran up the spine of the young elf, for he feared that this fate had overcome all trees that existed in Middle Earth.  
  
The young elf sensed a shadow passing beneath. His slender limbs stiffened as he crept upon a branch which seemed incredibly thin to be supporting the elf's weight without bending at all.  
  
The shadow below him took form; a tall cloaked figure stood just a little away from the tree. The hood of the cloak covered their face. Silently, Legolas drew his daggers, gripped them firmly taking a deep breath; and then, just as silently, he jumped off the branch and landed behind the figure. It turned around, hand on the hilt of the large sword, but Legolas was faster. He hit the figure's face hard with the hilt of his dagger and before it was able to react, the elf had kicked them across the chest with much force, sending them stumbling to the ground. Legolas sprang up and over the figure, kneeling on its arms, pressing both daggers closely against its throat.  
  
"Why do you follow me, fiend?!" he demanded to know.  
  
The figure coughed trying to move, but Legolas pressed the daggers closer, drawing tiny droplets of blood.  
  
"Speak!"  
  
  
  
"Legolas, it's me- please, get off me…"  
  
Legolas pulled the cloak from the figure's face.  
  
"Boromir!"  
  
The elf removed himself from his chest immediately, sheathing his daggers.  
  
"I am sorry my friend, I did not know it was you. This darkness clouds my senses. Forgive me."  
  
He extended his hand to Boromir, helping him up.  
  
"Thank you my friend," the man replied.  
  
  
  
"I was worried for your well being. When you disappeared, and this darkness, it is very-"  
  
A surprised look spread across Legolas face, as his own daggers pierced though his throat and abdomen.  
  
"Boromir…?"  
  
Clarion stepped out from behind the elf allowing him to fall forward into Boromir's arms. His face looked at the son of Gondor in wonder, as if he did not understand what was happening?  
  
"I'm… dying…Boromir?"  
  
His soft breath stopped flowing from his lips and a silver haze spread itself across his sky blue eyes, a blue that should never be seen again.  
  
Even in death, he looked beautiful, Boromir noticed. His face was fairer than it had been; his golden hair falling upon his face like silk that had been woven by the sun. Slowly, the rosy colour of his lips was draining, leaving them cold, as Boromir knelt on the ground cradling the limp, fragile body of the elf.  
  
The son of Gondor wept.  
  
"You fiend! You treacherous fiend!"  
  
Clarion laughed and it felt like shards of ice piercing skin.  
  
"Someone had to do it."  
  
"He was my friend."  
  
"Just as Merry and Pippin were."  
  
Boromir ignored her, for his grief for his friends overcame him. The holy person who had seen what was happening t him was dead, fading into mere memory. The only person that had trusted him unconditionally had been ripped from his life.  
  
"My dear friend, I am so sorry," gently he kissed the elf upon his brow and rested him upon the ground, "I hope your spirit finds peace." 


	11. Hope Slays

Frodo sat up with a yelp.  
  
"Master Frodo?"  
  
The young hobbit was shaking, looking around rather frightened. Sam gently wrapped his arm around Frodo's shoulder trying to give him enough comfort to calm down.  
  
"Shh, Master Frodo. It's alright."  
  
They were truly alone. There were just them and the slowly dying fire. The only sound that could be heard was Frodo's weeping as he pressed his head against Sam's shoulder.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Sam," Frodo wept.  
  
"Don't be Frodo. This is all very sad. Sometimes it is better to let things out."  
  
Sam wished he was able to let the horror he felt out, but he knew would he break it would be Frodo's undoing. Though, as he looked upon Frodo's sobbing figure, something in his stomach twisted. Tears forced themselves into his eyes; his throat felt awfully dry and scratchy. He took a deep breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeve so Frodo could not see his torment.  
  
"No, Sam," Frodo stood up, "I really am sorry."  
  
Samwise was too confused by Frodo drawing his sword Sting to realize that it did not glow blue and that no orcs were near. He also did not realize the blade cutting across his throat, he was too occupied watching Frodo's face distort into a terrified grimace. Sam wished to say something, but he could not for the blade had severed his vocal chords. Crimson blood was flowing from his lips instead, in small never ending rivers which formed puddles on his shirt and the ground. His eyes were fixed upon Frodo. Lovingly, he watched his friend, a smile playing around his lips, hoping his love would overcome all evil, but it did not. Seemingly against his will, Frodo's hand caressed the One Ring and slid it onto his finger, disappearing into nothingness. As he vanished, Sam sighed and his eyes closed and his heart stopped beating. It was there beside the small dying campfire that the hobbit Samwise died. His body left to decay in a puddle of crimson blood.  
  
* * *  
  
Boromir's hands cradled his head between his dirt crusted hands. Violent images flashed through his mind. He flinched as Clarion violently dragged him away from Legolas' body. The darkness within had hidden itself. Boromir felt as if he were dying over and over again. Tears ran down his face. At this moment, he was not the brave Son of Gondor; he was not the hope of man. He was again the young boy that had to hide his tears behind his pride for he was destined o govern his father's lands one day. He was the one to look out for his younger brother; he was the role model, the brave one, the one that is never scared. Helplessness overcame his mind. He would gladly give his own life to restore the life of his friends. The shadow felt fainter. His compassion grew stronger. His gaze fell upon Clarion; she was kneeling on the ground, holding her throat as if choking. Her figure was flickering in the dark like a candle. Boromir stood beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, meeting his gaze. She froze. He knew. 


End file.
